


You're A Total Distraction

by germanjj, PeachyPerfect (tomssweetheart)



Series: Restraint [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Consensual Sex, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dry Humping, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, Kink Negotiation, Lawyers, Light Angst, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Smut, there's only one bed, unrealistic depiction of how law firms work, we're no professionals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29662548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germanjj/pseuds/germanjj, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomssweetheart/pseuds/PeachyPerfect
Summary: Armie’s new associate at Gerwig & Partners is promising. Timothée is not only incredibly smart and charming; he also refuses to let himself be pushed around and told what to do. Armie sees this as a challenge, but there’s an attraction between them that guides them down a different path; a path Armie is reluctant to take. Until that one fateful business trip.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Restraint [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179752
Comments: 237
Kudos: 177





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, we're back. Sort of, gha! After struggling with our writing for this fandom individually for a while, we decided to take an entirely different course and work together. During this process, we've discovered that we work very well together and this is the result. It started out as a fic for the CMBYN fandom, but soon became a crossover when Harry decided to show his face. The rest, well... You'll read the rest, haha!
> 
> This story is going to be part of a series that will exist in three parts.
> 
> **DISCLAIMER:** Please read the tags carefully. As always, don’t like, don’t read. This was cathartic and very fun to write and we’d like to invite you to enjoy this with us. If it’s not your thing, that’s okay too. This is a work of ficton. None of this is real, or reflects our personal beliefs about anything or anyone. 
> 
> If you decide to indulge in BDSM or a similar relationship, remember to do research and play safe, sane and consensual. This fic cannot and should not be used as a guideline for any of the mentioned situations.
> 
> **Added notes:** Harry/Louis is a side pairing and will appear later, but will be very much present.
> 
> The title comes from the song Kill My Mind by Louis Tomlinson.
> 
> We hope you enjoy this story! Please don't be shy and leave us feedback or a kind word. It means the world to both of us ♥
> 
> [](https://ibb.co/c6T3dK8)  
> 

> **To: Timothée Chalamet  
>  From: Armand Hammer  
>  Tuesday, 2:10PM**
> 
> Hello Timothée,
> 
> I know my assistant told you where my office is, because that’s literally the most important room in this building that you should know where to find and I know for a fact that she told you I needed the Ramsey briefs by 2. 
> 
> It’s 2:10 and I can’t see them on my desk so I’m assuming you’re aiming for the shortest tenure at Gerwig & Partners?
> 
> Armand

> **To: Armand Hammer  
>  From: Timothée Chalamet  
>  Tuesday, 2:14PM**
> 
> Armand,
> 
> I am, indeed, perfectly aware of where I can find your office. I am also, on the contrary of what you seem to believe, Sir, fully aware of my tasks today. However, the briefs have only just come back from the copy room. My sincere apologies. They’ll be with you shortly.
> 
> I’d like for my time at the firm to last a while longer, please. Thank you.
> 
> Timothée

> **To: Timothée Chalamet  
>  From: Armand Hammer  
>  Tuesday, 7:47PM**
> 
> Timothée,
> 
> Good work on the briefs. I don’t usually compliment anyone so savor this one, you won’t be hearing it often. 
> 
> Don’t be late again. 
> 
> Armand

> **To: Timothée Chalamet  
>  From: Armand Hammer  
>  Wednesday, 8:13AM**
> 
> Timothée,
> 
> I need you to drive by Charlotte Branagh today and get her to testify against Williams Pharmaceutical. 
> 
> I don’t have to tell you that the whole case hangs on her testimony. Call Florence when you’re done. 
> 
> Armand
> 
> PS: Make sure to dress the part. You’re representing me and I can’t have you showing up there looking like you’re selling weed on the side.

> **To: Armand Hammer  
>  From: Timothée Chalamet  
>  Wednesday, 11:32AM**
> 
> Armand,
> 
> I am slightly offended by the fact that you seem to think I’m not able to dress myself properly. You have eyes, don’t you?
> 
> Miss Branagh is currently giving up her testimony in room 3. Florence is aware.
> 
> You’re welcome.
> 
> Timothée

Armie reads the email twice, stopping himself from actually whistling. The kid actually did it?

He leaves his office, walking by Florence’s desk who’s raising her eyebrow at him, which is her way of saying “the new kid is good, isn’t he?” and Armie doesn’t need to respond to let her know he agrees. 

He usually takes a new associate every two years. He chose Timothée out of an impressive pool of Harvard and Yale graduates after only ten minutes in the room with him. Armie knows there’s something in him. A potential he’s rarely seen. 

Armie walks past room 3 and spots Miss Branagh through the glass, but he doesn’t stop there. Instead he takes the elevator down to the second floor where he maneuvers a maze of cubicles to find the new associate. 

He hates it down here, doesn’t even understand how they can all work packed together like sardines. The floor to ceiling windows offer a lot of light, but still, to Armie, the room seems dark and chaotic with voices everywhere and a flurry of performative busyness. 

Armie hadn’t seen the new kid since his first day a few weeks ago and all he remembers is an unruly mop of hair and a face that screams twelve year-old in Daddy’s clothes. 

He finally spots him in the corner, his oversized headphones on his ears and his eyes focused on the screen in front of him. He’s nibbling on his thumb, his slender fingers sporting several silver rings, and his eyes are huge, running over whatever he’s reading. 

Armie walks up to him and pulls the headphones off the kid’s head. Timothée startles and trains his wide eyes on Armie. 

Somewhere in the back of Armie’s mind, he doesn’t fail to notice how annoyingly pretty the kid’s eyes are and then he notices the sharp cut of his jaw. He chooses to ignore it. 

“Your tie is too skinny and your suit looks like you bought it off the rack.” He places a business card on Timothée’s desk. “You have an appointment tomorrow at five. Get at least three new suites. Ask for Victor, he will know what to do.” 

Timothée stares at him like he’s grown a second head, so Armie nods, considers his point made, and he turns, before making his way back to the elevator.

Timmy watches the man stride back across the floor and through the doors, out of sight, and he’s ashamed to admit that his cock is hard in his trousers. 

He has met Mr. Hammer once before, and remembers being just as impressed back then. The man is tall as a tree, sports a set of broad shoulders on an almost artfully shaped back and walks like he owns the world and does it proudly. On top of that, he has these enticing blue eyes that seem to pierce through your soul and pick up on your deepest, darkest fantasies. All of Timmy’s fantasies have started starring the man ever since.

Armand’s arrogance, however, brings out a side in him that he hasn’t explored in a long time. He wants to provoke him; wants to push his buttons and see how far he can go. He’s not too worried about losing his job, knowing that he’s acing it. Armand might seem threatening, but Timmy doesn’t feel threatened. He feels excited - thrilled to be interacting with the man more than any of his colleagues seem to be.

He looks down at the business card in his hand and frowns. He’s perfectly aware of the fact that his suits don’t fit him like Armand’s suits fit his sculpted body. He can’t even match the man in the slightest, nor does he have the money to buy himself beautifully tailored suits. He’s not actually offended, but he decides to decline the offer.

Not without showing his teeth, however.

> **To: Armand Hammer  
>  From: Timothée Chalamet  
>  Wednesday, 11:41AM**
> 
> Armand,
> 
> Thank you for the offer, but I’d like to decline it. I don’t need new suits, nor do I have the necessities to be able to afford them. You’ll have to reward someone else for being a good errand boy.
> 
> Timothée

Florence looks pleased as she looks up from the email Armie has just shown her. She studies Armie for a moment, before her lips turn into a smile. A knowing smile.

“Oh, you like him, don’t you?”

Armie opens his mouth to protest. 

“Admit it, Armie. He’s good. Like, really good. And he doesn’t let himself get pushed around. You like him because he reminds you a little bit of you.”

Armie snaps his mouth shut. He’s always known that Flo knows him better than he knows himself, so he’s sure she probably has a point. Still, he hates being called out like that. 

“His suits are atrocious,” he complains in a mock exasperated tone. “I mean, maybe not even suits, plural. Maybe it’s just one suit. You should see the kid. It’s embarrassing.”

She places the files he asked for on his desk and turns to go. “I’ve seen him and he’s gorgeous. Maybe you shouldn’t just throw money at him,” she says, opening the door. 

“What? You think I should show him that I, what? Care?”

Florence turns and rolls her eyes at him. “Armie, you do care. You just have an awful way of showing it.” And with that she closes the door behind her, leaving him with no chance to reply. 

Grumbling, Armie turns back to his computer.

> **To: Timothée Chalamet  
>  From: Armand Hammer  
>  Wednesday, 12:05PM**
> 
> Timothée,
> 
> It wasn’t an offer, it was a request. I will let it slide this time. 
> 
> You’ll accompany me to a client dinner tomorrow. Make sure to meet me in the lobby at 3:30 sharp. Memorize everything you know about Client Patient privilege. 
> 
> Armand
> 
> PS: No headphones. You’re not a teenager.

> **To: Armand Hammer  
>  From: Timothée Chalamet  
>  Wednesday, 12:07PM**
> 
> Armand,
> 
> Maybe request nicely next time? I might react better to positive reinforcement.
> 
> What client? Any requests for a dress code?
> 
> Timothée.
> 
> PS: Maybe you should buy a pair of good quality headphones and listen to some music from time to time. Might make you less cranky.

Timmy smiles at the screen of his computer in satisfaction. He knows he has his toes over the line and can almost imagine Armand seething in his office, but it’s worth it. It’s so worth it.

It only then occurs to him what his boss has requested. He’s supposed to join the man to dinner with a client. Dinner with Armand. He’s suddenly itching in his own skin, wondering if there will be more people joining them, and feeling confused as to why he, of all people, is supposed to join Armand. He likes to think it’s because he’s actually doing a good job, but there’s something off about the request. Or is that just the voice in his head, trying to convince him to look into it deeper than he actually should?

He sighs and settles his headphones back over his ears. He leans back over the files on his desk, a case they have been dealing with for weeks now, and tries to concentrate.

On Thursday, Armie arrives at the lobby at 3:30PM on the dot, leaving the elevator and rounding the corner. 

He has sent Timothée the dress code (business, he shouldn’t dare anything casual) and he finds himself weirdly excited to take the newbie to his first client meeting. 

Especially this one. Michael Carstairs is a grade A sleazebag and Armie can’t wait to see how Timothée will handle him. 

He doesn’t want to admit it yet, but he is really starting to enjoy working with Timothée. Enjoys even how he doesn’t give in an inch. And, if Armie’s honest with himself, he’s not really sure if his enjoyment is based on the fact that Timothée is pushing back, or if it’s because it’s a challenge to find something that’ll make Timothée yield to him. 

Armie swallows heavily as the thought registers in his head and he tries to shake it, and the heat in his cheeks that comes with it, off. He can’t let Timothée become a distraction. 

Timmy smiles smugly when he sees Armand entering the lobby, knowing it’s probably going to piss the man off at least a little that he’s already waiting for him. He has surely been expecting to be waiting for Timmy. It’s a glorious feeling to prove his boss wrong.

“Mr. Hammer,” Timmy greets with a curt nod. He straightens his tie, even though he doesn’t know if the thing is crooked or not, but he needs to do something with his hands, or he’ll lose his confidence and start fidgeting.

Armand looks delectable. He’s wearing his suit almost like it’s painted on him, the navy blue, pinstripe fabric smooth against the impressive lines of his body. His hair sits neat on his head, styled to perfection, and his skin looks extra tan, as if he’s just been on a short vacation overnight. When he comes closer, Timmy doesn’t just notice the way his eyes sparkle, but he also picks up on how good the man smells. His cock gives a greedy little twitch in his trousers and he shifts from one foot to the other. He has no idea how he's going to survive this dinner.

Armie tries to keep his face neutral when he sees Timothée, but he can’t help but feel pleased that the kid seems to have wanted to impress him by showing up early enough to be there before him. He wonders if the kid’s even aware that he’s done that. 

Armie studies him for a moment, takes in the ill-fitting suit and crooked tie, but he also notices that he made an effort to tame his curls to make him look somewhat professional. 

“Follow me,” he says curtly and walks past the kid. He doesn’t look back, because he’s sure that Timothée is already fast on his heels. 

Armie guides him to the limousine waiting outside and greets Dave, his driver of six years. He slips in the back looking expectantly at Timothée, who is climbing in behind him. 

“Good to go,” he says to Dave, having briefed him beforehand on exactly where he wanted to go first. 

The kid fastens his seatbelt and the car starts soundlessly. 

The limousine is spacious enough, but both he and the kid are tall; long limbs trying to find a comfortable seat in the car. Armie notices how his knee is touching Timothée’s, but he doesn’t move it. Unsure whether it is to ascertain his dominance or-... Or because he kind of likes it. Maybe.

Timmy’s knee is tingling where it's resting against Armand’s, but he doesn’t want to pull away. He’s seated inside a huge limousine with his frustratingly handsome boss, on his way to sit through a however many course meal of probably the most expensive food he'll ever eat in his life. He’d be insane to pull his knee away now. Every form of contact is a welcome one.

He stares out of the tinted window and watches the streets of New York City fly by. The sidewalks are still crowded with people of all sorts, walking in and out of stores and restaurants without a care in the world and Timmy is slightly envious. It has been so long since he’s been shopping, he can’t even remember what he bought. Most likely the skin tight black jeans he ripped out of last weekend. It now makes a perfect night club outfit. At least it makes his intentions clear if his ass is hanging out.

He startles when fingers snap in front of his face and pull him from his daydream. He turns to Armand and sees the slightly annoyed look in the man’s eyes; a raised eyebrow, his lips rolled into his mouth over his teeth. Timmy doesn’t know if he feels intimidated or thoroughly turned on.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hammer,” he says apologetically, before he sassily adds “I guess the silence caused my attention to stray.”

“We’re here,” Armie announces as the car finally stops, but he keeps studying the kid a little while longer. Timothée is nervous and unfocused and he can’t have either of it. 

The snap hadn’t startled only Timothée, but Armie too. It came way too natural to him and Timothée’s reaction was almost too swiftly, too submissive. 

There’s something about the kid. It makes Armie a little bit uneasy and Armie Hammer can’t afford being uneasy. 

He opens the car door and once again doesn’t check if Timothée follows. He’ll likely lose his restlessness soon enough and switch back to anger, which Armie almost looks forward to. Anger is far easier to reign in. 

“Hello Victor, it’s so good to see you.” Armie lets himself be greeted and kissed on both cheeks once inside the shop, holding onto the hands of the owner - a slight man about Armie’s age. “I need you to perform a miracle. On him.”

He turns around to find Timothée beside him, face already beet red with an expression of which Armie suspects is a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“Victor, I need something that’ll fit him right now, you have an hour. And take his measurements, I’ll be ordering a few more items for him. Can’t have him walk around in something coming from a rack or, God forbid, a catalogue.”

Victor visibly pales as he looks at Timothée. His lips perform an impressive dance of distaste and interest while his eyes take in Timothée’s lanky body and the atrocity he calls a suit, but then he swirls into motion. 

Armie turns to Timothée, who has his mouth open in protest. 

“You can have your fit after dinner. Now, be a good boy and let Victor give you a suit. I’m gonna pay for it and I will not hear a word about that either. Do we understand each other?”

He looms over Timothée, not inappropriately close, but close enough that the difference in their height and build becomes obvious. Armie doesn’t back down, even though he knows he can be intimidating. He can almost feel all the confusing emotions radiate off of the kid, almost as obvious as the way he sees them flicker across his face. They will need to work on his poker face. 

“I need you to look your best, and for you to be on your best behavior today. After dinner you’ll have the chance to flip your shit at me. Do we have a deal?”

Timmy’s knees buckle and he swallows thickly, feeling breathless all of a sudden. The low, authoritative thrum in Armand’s voice flows through his chest and settles low in his stomach. He's glad that he’s about to be whisked away by Victor, because he’s afraid that he’ll throw himself at his boss if he stays in his proximity for much longer.

“Y-Yes, Sir,” he answers, his voice barely more than a whisper. He wants to scold himself, wants to hit himself over the head for being so damn submissive where it isn’t desirable. His cocky, confident self has disappeared and in place is the need to yield to this tall, powerful man. To kneel at his feet and obey his wishes, whatever the cost. 

Timmy forces himself to man up; to straighten his shoulders, take a deep breath and mask the effect Armand is having on him. He thinks he manages quite well, considering the fact that he follows Victor into the back of the store without stumbling over his own feet. 

“He can be quite intimidating, no?” Victor says, gesturing towards where Armand has taken a seat in a comfortable, velvety blue chair. Timmy winces, disappointed that the tailor still seems to have picked up on his reactions. He shrugs and yanks at his tie. He feels hot all of a sudden and the thing has to come off, anyway.

“He’s not that bad,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t sound all that convincing.

Victor takes his measurements and writes them down as Armand has requested. Then, he works his magic and shows Timmy several suits. He tries them on with various colors of shirts and ties, before they unanimously agree on a moss green suit that matches Timmy’s eyes. He pairs it with a crisp white shirt and a silky, black tie. When he looks in the mirror, he’s stunned by his own looks. Timmy has never really appreciated his own figure. It’s just a body, nothing special. But in this suit... In this suit he has shapes. He has a waist and shoulders and a tiny bubble butt that he’s secretly quite proud of all of a sudden. He feels pretty and it makes him blush. If his boss doesn’t agree with this look, he can walk straight to hell, because Timmy is never taking it off again.

Armie watches Victor work from his chair, a swiftly brought coffee on the table to his right. He has tried to get some work emails out of the way, but has been too mesmerized by the subtle but impactful change happening to Timothée. 

He looks, well... good. Armie isn’t blind and has noticed that the kid is objectively beautiful and handsome, but now that he’s not drowning in an ill fitting suit, he’s actually gorgeous. 

Armie crosses one leg over the other and leans back, giving up all pretense of not watching Timothée while Victor pins and folds and changes the suit to sit with absolute perfection. The memory of Timothée saying “Yes, Sir” flickers through his mind and Armie pushes it away quickly. 

He knows he needs to be careful here. His nature to boss people around is too easily shifting into something else with the kid and he needs to watch himself. Mostly because of how easily Timothée seems to slip into that role and follow his lead. 

“Just adding the tie and then you’re all done,” Victor declares, holding up the tie in question. 

Armie stands up, hands the black credit card he fishes out of his pocket to Victor, and snatches the tie from him. 

“We’re in a bit of a hurry. Please add a nice tip for yourself, you’ve outdone yourself once again, truly. I’m gonna take care of the tie.”

Victor blushes but doesn’t hesitate and hurries over to the front of the store to take care of the payment. 

Armie steps in front of Timothée, who’s quieter now, less fidgety, as if the task of standing still had calmed him down. 

“Now _that_ is a suit,” Armie says, his voice sounding a bit rougher than intended. Timothée’s gaze is fixed on him, and he doesn’t protest when Armie starts tying the tie around his neck, quickly and expertly. His knuckles are brushing the kid’s skin and when Timothée tilts his head to give Armie more access to his neck, Armie’s mouth goes dry and his trousers are suddenly a bit tighter than he needs right now.

Armand’s thumb brushes Timmy’s Adam’s apple and the younger man hums low in his throat. Their eyes lock and Timmy sees his boss’ throat bob as he swallows. There’s a spark of undeniable desire between them and it makes Timmy’s knees weak. He stumbles a little, grabs on to Armand’s hip to steady himself, and the strong muscle and protruding hip bone beneath his palm makes him gasp. He’s fucked.

“T-Thank you, Mr. Hammer,” he stutters, in an attempt to cover up his moment of weakness. “For the suit. And... everything.”

Armand clears his throat and nods, before he steps back. Timmy’s hand falls from his hip, only to hang limply next to his thigh. He doesn’t know what to do with himself and he feels a little awkward, but he knows he has to get himself together. He’s supposed to sit through dinner with this infuriatingly handsome man and some client. He can’t come off as insecure or unsure. He has to be confident and charming. If not for Armand, then for himself. There’s no way he’s going to let this man get into his head.

Armie turns and takes the time to collect himself quietly. He is around hundreds of beautiful people all the time, people he’s certainly attracted to in various degrees and he’s never had any problems with it. 

But Timothée... The way he reacts to Armie is making all the difference. The way he can stand his ground, but then just follows Armie’s orders and looks at him as if he likes doing it. As if he likes it a little too much, even. 

Armie says goodbye to Victor and both he and Timothée climb back into the limousine, where Dave has been patiently waiting the whole time. 

“Close the screen, please,” Armie asks his driver, and a second later the screen rolls up, giving Timothée and him complete privacy. 

Their knees are not touching this time and Armie chooses to keep his distance. He needs the kid sharp and ready, and not flustered or too turned on to focus on work. 

He’s noticed it, of course. The widened pupils, the flicker of his tongue over his lip. Armie has controlled his urge not to look down to find the telltale signs of an erection in the kid’s dress pants, but he knows what arousal looks like. Especially when it’s aimed at him. 

Armie curses inwardly at the thought and how it makes something pool low in his belly. After this he’ll make sure to keep his distance again. 

“Michael Carstairs,” Armie startles the kid, as he suddenly speaks and throws him a file he has kept in the car. “Our client for almost ten years now, millions are riding on him. You’ll find all the details in the file. He’s being sued for selling information obtained by his doctors in meetings with their patients, which is of course subject to-”

He keeps on talking, gives Timothée a quick rundown of what they’re walking into. Which, in short, is meeting a super wealthy client who is a giant jackass and has done unspeakable things, but still expects Armie to get him out of this. With Timothée’s help. 

“He’s been restless lately. There’s rumors that he’s looking for outside counsel, maybe even wants to switch firms. Our job is to convince him that he stays with us and to ensure that he’s walking out of this meeting, knowing we’ll fix whatever he messed up.”

Armie studies Timothée’s profile while the kid skims through the file. He seems calmer now, more alert. Focused. 

He’s worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he reads, and his fingers are dancing over the paper. No rings today. 

Armie finally pulls his gaze away when he notices that he’s been staring at the kid’s eyelashes for two full minutes.

Timmy silently reads the file and can’t help but think that he’d rather be anywhere than at that restaurant, having to charm a man who’s done so many horrible things. He resents the idea that Armand is so keen on keeping this bastard, but he guesses that's the beauty of being a lawyer; guilt doesn’t matter. Money does.

“What a dickhead,” he mumbles, closing the file and handing it back to his boss. When he looks at the man beside him, he notices that his cheeks are a little pink and he wonders what his boss had been thinking about during the brief moment of silence, but he has to remind himself to stay professional.

Armand is exactly the type of man he should be avoiding. The type who brings out his bratty side, his need to talk back and provoke, but also his need to serve and be... _good._ He needs to focus on himself and his job. He can’t afford to get carried away in another relationship.

 _Relationship,_ he scoffs inwardly. _This is your boss, you moron._

And even though he's perfectly aware of the fact that Armand is his boss and their ‘relationship’ is strictly professional, he can’t help but feel oddly comfortable in the man’s presence. His urge to kneel at his feet and follow his demands comes almost too naturally. As if Armand expects him to - asks him to - without actually voicing his thoughts and Timmy's body just _understands._ It’s driving him nuts.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Why am I here? I’m sure you could have done a much better job charming the pants off of this man without my attendance.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their business dinner creates a situation neither Armie, nor Timmy are prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My God, you guys, you have no idea how completely overwhelming it is to see all the positive comments on this fic. In the most delicious, heart-warming way, of course! Thank you so much for giving it a chance, for being so enthusiastic and for leaving all your kind words! We really appreciate it ♥ Enjoy chapter two!

When the main course is served, Armie leans back in his chair and studies the situation. 

Timothée is phenomenal. He had not only listened when Armie had explained that his role is to impress with his knowledge and bring in some fresh energy where Mr. Carstairs has signaled before to be looking around for new counsel, but he has also now completely slipped into the person Armie has had a glimpse of before. He impresses with his cocky energy that he can easily back up with expertise. 

Armie can tell that Mr. Carstairs is taken with Timothée. He’s hanging onto his every word, laughing too loudly and leaning in a bit too closely. 

Timothée casually leans back, bringing some distance between himself and the client, so subtle that Mr. Carstairs might not even notice it. 

“Timothée,” the old man croaks, trying for a smile that Armie can only find inappropriate. “You should visit me at my house. I’d love to show you what hard work and good connections can bring you sometimes. A young boy like you needs a good mentor, don’t you think?”

The food revolts in Armie’s stomach, but before he can say anything, Timmy is already responding. 

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Carstairs, and I can only agree with you. I have a very good mentor and I can tell that I’m already profiting from his knowledge and guidance.” 

He’s saying it with such a sweet, innocent tone that Armie has to stifle a laugh. He’s not sure if riling up Mr. Carstairs is such a good idea, but he can’t help but to enjoy the show. 

Still, Armie is starting to wish that they didn’t need his obnoxious, sleazy ass, and it rubs him the wrong way that the old man keeps eyeing the kid. 

But whenever he looks over at Timothée, the kid seems relaxed and absolutely in charge of the situation, so Armie keeps silent and smiles at the right moments, finishing the last of his 80$ steak. 

“I like your new boy, Armie,” Carstairs laughs when the plates have been removed and the dessert menu sits on the table. “I think the kid can manage without you from here on out. He seems smart and capable. What do you say?”

A burst of sweat breaks out on the back of Timmy’s neck, but he recovers quickly and before his boss has a chance to answer, he speaks up for himself. He’s not stupid enough to not notice the advances this asshole has been making at him all night. There’s no way in hell that he’s being left alone with him.

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, Mr. Carstairs, truly, but I’d rather have Mr. Hammer here. I’m still learning, after all.”

The man across from him raises an eyebrow and turns to his boss, who has been quiet for a while. When Timmy steals a glance at the man next to him, he can see a smug little grin around Armand’s mouth. His shoulders are relaxed, leaning back in his chair, and he looks confident as hell. It’s hot and Timmy squirms in his seat. He suddenly wishes he could crawl into the man’s lap and flatten himself against his chest. It’s a thought that makes him feel dizzy and he coughs quietly, trying to get rid of it.

“Ah, I see how it is here,” Carstairs says, leaning back in his chair as well, setting down his wine glass.

Armie takes a slow breath, letting pride wash over him. He’s proud of how well Timothée is handling himself, and how effortlessly he stands up against him the sleazeball.

Still. Armie’s had enough. 

“I’m afraid you don’t,” Armie says cheerfully, folding his napkin and placing it on the table. He doesn’t need to look over at Timothée to know that he’s taking his cue. 

“You see, I brought my new associate here to see what kinds of clients we won’t deal with. People like you, who try to intimidate and blackmail our firm out of pure boredom and then hit on my new associate during a business meeting. Right in front of me.”

Armie stands and Timothée does the same. “I’m afraid we must part ways here, Mr. Carstairs. Good luck with your case.”

With that he turns and leaves the restaurant. He doesn’t falter, nor does he look back. With every step he takes, he loses a bit of the control and bravado he displayed in there, causing the anger to come through. 

Timothée is right behind him, rushing to keep up. 

“Did you mean that?” the kid asks carefully. “About having planned on letting him go?”

“Not a word.” It’s already dark outside, and Dave is waiting by the limousine, not a trace of surprise on his face about the fact that they’re back early. He rushes to open the car door immediately, silent as ever. 

Armie takes his seat in the car and looks at Timothée, who’s still hesitating to get in. 

“I just lost our company a multimillion dollar client because he hit on you. I would like to get home now, Timothée, so would you please get in the car?”

“Multimi-,” Timmy almost chokes on the words as he scrambles into the limousine and sits next to Armand. “Multi-m-million dollar? Mr. Hammer, I-...” He inhales deeply, rubs a hand over his face and yanks at his tie, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and like... Well, like a failure.

The man they’ve just had dinner with is a complete asshole, but it’s not like Timmy hasn’t been associated with assholes before. He could have handled it, he’s confident that he could have, and yet the fact that Armand has stood up for him the way he has makes him feel... tingly. It’s almost like his boss is possessive of him. Which isn’t true, obviously. He’d be reading too much into the situation if he actually believed that, but it's still nice to think that the man doesn’t hesitate to save his ass if he needs it.

Timmy buckles his seatbelt and unbuttons his suit jacket. He’s sweating and uneasy in his own skin and the perfectly fitted suit suddenly feels way too tight on his body. On top of all of that, Armand’s knee is touching his again and it’s obvious this time. It’s not a subtle bump, every time the car hits a hole in the road or something. No, it’s a persistent, firm press of knee against knee and Timmy has to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress the urge to move over and hump Armie’s thigh. His cock is hard again, painfully so, and he moves the corner of his jacket over his crotch to cover it up.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Mr. Hammer. I could have handled it, myself,” he says, feeling impossibly guilty over the big loss the company is going to suffer, on top of his dumb attraction for his boss. He definitely deserves the sack now.

“Stop,” Armie says before the kid can spiral any more into some guilt ridden panic attack. The word seems to do the trick, enough so that Timothée shuts up immediately and his eyes fixate on Armie, waiting for more. 

Armie let’s the silence fill the car, controlling his own body first. His knee is a persistent weight against Timothée’s, something he knows is working to keep the kid grounded, but he shouldn’t know that. Not after spending so little time with him. It’s his cock that’s giving him more grief, starting to have interest in this situation, fueled by adrenaline and proximity and the smell of the kid’s shampoo. 

“You were excellent in there and kicking him out was entirely my decision and mine alone. It is neither your fault, nor your responsibility.”

He waits a beat, watching the kid’s face to make sure he understands. 

“Dave, bring me to the office please. Timothée, where should we drop you off?”

Armie asks him, angry at himself that a small voice inside him suddenly wants the kid to come back to the office with him. And he knows he could make him. He just needs to say the words and Timothée will come back with him. There’s a rush of adrenaline and arousal, and Armie clenches his jaw to stay silent. 

This is ridiculous. He shouldn’t be this attracted to this boy but he is. To his intellect and his bravado and those goddamn beautiful cheekbones and the way his whole posture snaps to attention when Armie orders him to.

The stern, no-bullshit tone in Armie’s voice settles in Timmy’s groin and makes his balls pulse. He wants to slide to the floor of the limousine, kneel with his hands behind his back and lay his tongue on his bottom lip, his mouth parted in suspense. He wants Armie to use that tone on him and fuck his face, and he wants to be completely overwhelmed by it all, so much so that he comes in his pants untouched. He’s halfway there already.

Instead, he runs a hand through his curls, unbuttons the collar of his shirt and takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. Maybe he just needs to get laid. It’s been so long since he’s gone out. Instead, he’s been so fully concentrated on acing his job and impressing this hunk of a man. He can’t even remember when the last time was and with whom he’d hooked up. Then again, he never really remembers names, since his hook ups are just that; meaningless one night stands to get his rocks off. 

Timmy carefully contemplates his next move. He can tell Armand that he wants to go home, or maybe even let himself be dropped off at his parental home, so that he can vent to his mother about the situation, but something tells him that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. If his boss is going back to the office, most likely to do damage control, maybe he should go back too and do some more work. Perhaps he could even help with the situation; collect all of Mr. Carstairs files, or prepare the briefs for the meetings that are probably going to be arranged soon. He just feels like he needs to try harder, especially now, so he turns to Armand and shrugs.

“I guess I’ll go back to the office with you, Sir. I’d like to get some more work done.”

The rest of the trip is done in silence. It’s late, but they won’t be the only people back in the office and Armie admires the kid for wanting to come back to work. 

He had meant it when he had said it isn’t the kid’s fault, but Timothée had still looked a little shell shocked and Armie admires him for bouncing back and getting back on the horse immediately. 

They leave the car and make their way to the elevator, Timothée always shuffling a step behind Armie, until they’re inside and Armie finally catches a full look of him. Timothée, in his impeccable suit, lips shiny where he has been biting on the bottom one. 

And the bulge in his pants he can’t hide. 

Armie turns away from him while they’re going up, closing his eyes, willing his own body to calm down. 

It had started way before this dinner. It had started when he’d seen him in the interview room, all eager and willing to please, while not taking anyone’s shit. Armie had sensed his arousal back at Victor’s shop and he had tried to ignore it then. But it’s been a long day and Armie is slowly losing that fight. 

Fuck. He’s going to do something really fucking stupid. 

“You’re coming with me,” he simply states, not expecting a response from Timothée. He doesn’t get one. 

The kid follows him through the corridors to Armie’s corner office, and to his relief Armie notices that at least on this floor they seem to be alone. 

“Wait by the door,” Armie orders and goes straight to his desk, where he pulls out a piece of paper and a pen. 

He looks up briefly as he writes, his spine tingling when he sees that Timothée is waiting patiently in the open door, not moving a muscle. 

He’s so good already. The things Armie could do with him. 

When Armie is finished, he hands Timothée the paper and immediately walks back to his desk. He leans against it with ample space between them. 

“What is this?” Timothée asks, not reading anything yet. 

“It’s a personal recommendation from me. You may use it to get any job you want. You could work for another partner here or leave this firm and get hired by one of the other top law firms in this city.”

He watches his face ashen, his brows furrowing. “You’re firing me?” Timothée croaks. 

“No. But I want to make it very clear that you’re holding all the cards for the next question I’m going to ask you.”

Timothée’s eyes jump back up at him and oh, that feeling is already too good to be true. 

“What question?”

Armie takes a breath, his whole body zinging with anticipation. 

“You can either walk back to your desk and do whatever is left on your to do list for today. No repercussions, and we would never speak of this ever again. Or-”

He watches Timothée’s mouth part, watches him swallow. 

“Or you could come inside, close the door behind you, tell me your safeword, and then climb on my desk and kneel for me with your hands behind your back.”

Timmy’s breath catches in his throat and he lets it out on a shudder. His palms are suddenly sweating, his scalp is itching and his knees are shaking; he’s that nervous. His cock, however, doesn’t even remember the first option of going back to work or, God forbid, leaving the firm. His cock wants the second option. Timmy can feel himself leaking in his underwear and he whimpers. He loses his shit and actually _whimpers._

Without giving it a second thought he turns to the door, locks it and rests his forehead against the cool wood for a moment. He does his best to collect himself, to gather his thoughts. This man, his boss, wants him to kneel on his desk. On his desk! He wants Timmy’s submission, is asking for it almost too politely, and Timmy is ready to give it to him. Because he can be good. He can be better than he had been at the restaurant. He can be the best for Armand and he’s going to prove it.

He tears up the paper his boss has just handed him, lets the pieces flutter to the floor and then crosses the distance between the door and Armand’s desk. He shrugs off his jacket and takes off his tie, hangs both items on the back of the man’s chair, and then turns to climb on the desk. He hesitates for a moment and turns to Armand, swallowing thickly. 

“R-Red... Just... My safeword is red,” he whispers. He waits for Armand’s nod of approval and when it comes, it’s paired with a heat in his eyes that Timmy hasn’t seen there before. Did he do that? 

He climbs onto the desk on his knees, spreads his thighs a little bit and places his hands on top of them, palms up. He tries taking deep breaths through his nose, keeping himself calm as he waits for his boss’ next move.

Armie takes his time. The sight of Timothée on his desk is a sight to behold, and Armie feels his mouth go dry. He’s hard already, Timmy’s easy submission paired with his confidence is already a drug Armie can’t get enough of. 

“Your safeword again?” Armie asks, just to make Timothée repeat it. 

“Red,” comes the swift reply. 

“This is tonight only. Understood? Tomorrow we’ll go back to our job and we will not repeat this.”

Timothée nods, less sure now. 

“Now,” he steps closer, running a finger across Timothée’s palm, feeling the kid shudder at the touch. “I said behind your back,” he corrects gently and Timothée responds by pulling his hands back immediately.

Armie studies every inch of him, lets his eyes travel over the long, thin legs, his tiny waist and the impressive bulge in his trousers. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Armie lets the back of his hand glide over Timothée’s face, watching his eyes fall shut. 

“Eyes on me,” Armie corrects again, his voice calm, but the kid’s eyes are back on him immediately. 

“Good boy,” Armie smiles, caresses his thumb over Timothée’s lower lip. He wants to taste the kid everywhere, wants to do unspeakable things to him, but he knows he can’t indulge fully, can’t get a taste of these beautiful lips and then let him go. 

And he needs to let him go. 

Armie removes his jacket and uncuffs his shirt as he watches the frantic rise and fall of Timmy’s chest. He steps closer again, pressing his hand against the growing bulge in Timothée’s pants and Timothée’s moan rushes through Armie like a warm wave. He wants nothing more than to drop to his knees and find out all the noises the kid makes when his cock is down Armie’s throat. But he won’t.

Armie steps back, once again. He needs to stay in control. 

“You will choose,” he starts, waiting for Timothée’s eyes to focus on him. “You can either get off by using your hand, right there on my desk with me watching, but you won’t touch me. Or, you will be allowed to touch me, but you can only get off by grinding on my thigh.” Armie licks his lips. He’s certainly going to enjoy either option. “I want to watch you come, Timothée. So what will it be?”

Timmy can’t believe his luck. He’s kneeling on his boss’ desk. His boss, who is currently giving him two options to reach orgasm, and though either of those options sound good, there’s clearly only one that Timmy truly wants to choose. He wants to be able to touch Armand. To wrap his arms around the man’s neck and feel those back muscles under the tips of his fingers. He’s certain that it won’t take much for him to soil his trousers right now, so he’s confident that he won’t need his own hand.

There is also a small part of him that doesn’t want to give Armand the satisfaction of getting a free show. He doesn’t want to touch himself so intimately, take his cock out and stroke himself the way he does when he’s alone under his warm sheets at home and imagining this very man in all kinds of compromising positions. He wants to be a little selfish and take his pleasure from Armand’s body, and the thought causes him to release another few drops of precome. He glances down for a second and notices the wet patch on the front of his expensive trousers. He hopes the man won’t be too mad about him ruining his one good suit, but considering that Armand is still waiting for an answer, he guesses that it’s not the first thing on his mind right now.

When Timmy looks back up at his boss, Armand is watching him with a raised eyebrow, clearly getting impatient. He’s breathing heavily and there’s electricity between them that causes the fuzzy hair on Timmy’s body to stand up, even beneath his clothes. Timmy bites his lip and whimpers softly.

“Your... Your thigh, Sir. Please, your…” He can’t get a decent sentence out, but it seems to be enough, because the next thing he knows, he’s being lifted off the desk. He grabs on to Armand’s biceps and gasps at the firmness of them. The man sits down in one of the chairs in front of his desk and pulls Timmy with him, settling him on one of his thick thighs. The second Timmy’s balls touch Armand’s thigh through the fabric of their trousers, he moans filthily. He wraps his arms around Armand’s neck and searches his face for permission.

“So fucking beautiful,” Armie whispers, more to himself now, but he can feel Timothée’s grasp tighten around his neck. 

He spreads his legs some more until they slot together perfectly and Armie can feel the searing hotness through the thin fabric that’s separating them. He lifts his leg just once, just to elicit a reaction from Timothée, and he groans when he watches the kid throw his head back and moan a second time, no reservation, no shame. 

“Fuck, you’re being so good for me,” Armie praises him and one hand finds hold in Timmy’s hair. “Touch me where you like, but no removing clothes,” Armie rasps, his voice already dropping. Then he pulls Timothée closer, his lips brushing the shell of the kid’s ear. “And make sure I can hear you. Don’t hold back, every noise you make is for me. Every pleading word is for me, understood?”

He pulls back until he finds Timmy’s gaze again. The kid shudders, his whole body shaking against him. He nods, open mouthed and eyes half closed already. 

“Ask me to come. Can you do that? Let me know when you’re ready, but wait for my permission.” Armie let’s his thumb trace over Timothée’s lips again, and this time, Timothée sneaks out his tongue, before sucking the digit into his mouth. Armie groans, his hips jerking upwards against his will. 

He pulls the hand away, resting one on his own thigh and keeping the other firmly buried in Timothée’s hair. “Come on, baby. Get us both wet. Ride me.”

“Fuck, fuck... Sir,” Timmy moans, steadying his feet on the floor to give himself more leverage. He buries his fingers into the hair at the nape of Armand’s neck and rests his forehead against the man’s shoulder. He starts rolling his hips, rubbing his painfully hard cock up against Armand’s thigh as best as he can, but it’s more than enough. The friction is hot, his balls feel tight and he’s leaking steadily now, his precome soaking even the fabric of Armand’s trousers. It should be embarrassing, but for some reason it’s just not. It’s pretty fucking exhilirating, actually.

“Ar-... Sir... Mr. Hammer,” Timmy pants, unsure of how to address the man, which makes him feel even more naughty. This man is his boss. He takes commands from this man during work hours, and it’s surprising to find himself taking commands so easily in private. It’s going to be difficult to go back to the way it was, he knows that much.

Timmy can feel Armand’s cock against his own thigh and he gasps in shock. The man is big. Timmy doesn’t even know what he looks like, hasn’t been able to glance at it once, but he knows by the feel of it that it’s bigger than any cock he’s ever seen or touched. The air suddenly turns even more humid and he can feel himself getting closer and closer to his release, the orgasm creeping up on him like an assassin.

“Sir,” he groans, speeding up the pace of his hips. “Sir, I’m gonna... I think I’m... Oh, fuck, please!”

Armie savors every little movement and every sound, feels himself soak in it, as if his entire body is committing everything to memory like that. 

When Timothée is close, Armie makes him look up, using his finger to tilt Timothée’s head. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing like this. So good for me. Look at you. So good.”

Timothée is a wreck; his cheeks red and his skin sweaty, his lips spit slick and slack, his pupils blown and eyes shiny. He’s a masterpiece and Armie resists the urge to kiss him, to cross that final line that is the only thing keeping himself in control. 

“Please,” Timothée whimpers again, and his movements have become erratic, as if he’s purposely slowing down to keep his orgasm at bay. 

“Just a little longer. For me.” Armie lifts his free hand and caresses Timothée’s neck, gasping soundlessly as the kid immediately tilts his head to give him more access. “You’re being so good for me. So good.”

Pleasure is running through Armie’s veins and it sets his nerves on fire, as if he himself is about to come just from watching this; just from having this pliant kid, who’s submitting to him so completely, in his lap.

“Just a little bit longer,” Armie says soothingly and Timothée cries out, biting his lip. Armie can spot a tear forming in the corner of his eye. 

Armie lifts his head and kisses the tear away. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers into the small space left between them. “You’ve done so well. Now, come for me, Timothée.”

The moment Armand’s command reaches his ears, Timmy lets himself go and slips into an orgasm so intense that he loses his balance and collapses against Armand’s chest. He ruts against Armand’s thigh erratically, spurting thick ropes of come into his trousers. It’s overwhelming and not enough at the same time and as soon as the waves die down and the aftershocks take over, Timmy slips from Armand’s lap and kneels in between the man’s legs.

“Please,” he pants breathlessly. He feels himself dribbling in his pants, a particularly strong aftershock forcing more come from his balls and he keens behind closed lips. “Sir, please,” he then continues. “I can… I want to make you… Oh God, I’m begging you.”

Armand cocks an eyebrow and shifts in his chair. He adjusts himself in his pants, before he reaches out and strokes a curl behind Timmy’s ear. “I’ve been very generous with you,” he says. “What more could you possibly want?”

Timmy shudders and leans into the man’s touch. He’s eager for more; so eager that he can’t even remember why it’s probably best that he doesn’t ask for more. Which is why he doesn’t hold back.

“I want to suck you, Sir,” he says, bringing his hands to Armand’s thighs. “Please, I want to… You should come in my mouth. I’ll be so good for you.” Timmy shuffles closer and he’s embarrassed to feel tears stinging in his eyes. He has never wanted anything more. “I can be so good for you, Mr. Hammer. I promise, I… God, I want your cock in my mouth. Please, Sir?”

Armie closes his eyes and lets the pleasure wash over him, let’s Timothée’s begging fully register in his mind and spike that arousal even more. He pushes his flat palm against his crotch, feels the wetness of Timothée’s release there. His cock twitches eagerly at the offer. He takes another calming breath and opens his eyes. 

“No,” he replies, not unkindly. 

Armie gets off the chair where Timothée is still kneeling and he goes to fetch a glass of water from the water cooler behind his desk and a chocolate bar from the top drawer. 

When he returns, Timothée still hasn’t moved and the crestfallen, well fucked look on his face almost makes Armie give in, almost makes him want to give in to what both of them want. 

“Please join me on the sofa,” Armie requests and sits down on the two seater by the window. 

It takes a moment and Armie watches patiently until Timothée gets up on wobbly legs and makes it over him, sitting down as far away as possible. 

Armie suppresses a sigh and places the water and the chocolate bar on the glass table in front of them. Then he scoots close enough to the kid to be able to cup his cheek. 

“You’ve been so good for me, Timothée. So good. And I am sure that you’d be amazing with my cock in your mouth.”

The kid shudders at the mental image and Armie lets himself enjoy the thought too, just for a moment, chasing that rush of arousal. 

“But I have to decline your offer,” he then proceeds. “You have given me all I wanted tonight and you have been amazing and beautiful and so good. Do you hear me?” 

Timothée looks dazed and confused but after a moment, he nods slowly. Armie lets go and reaches for the glass of water, offering it to the kid. 

“I would like you to please drink all of this slowly and then eat at least half of the chocolate bar. Your own suit is in a bag by my desk. If you like you can use the shower down the hall and change your clothes. I have spare underwear here as well.” He pauses for a moment, as Timothée takes the first sip of water. Armie smiles in satisfaction. “I can also ask Dave to bring you home right away, after you’ve finished your chocolate, if that’s what you prefer.”

Timothée looks at him, stunned, probably still processing his words. Armie reaches for his knee and places his palm on top of it, hoping to offer a solid, reassuring weight. He wishes he could hold Timothée for a moment to offer him some comfort, but that might take it too far. 

They should have talked way more before this and Armie feels guilt churning in his gut, but his mind is too focused on Timothée still. 

He’s still unthinkably hard, still turned on and this part, this little bit of aftercare he can provide, does nothing to diminish that. On the contrary; he almost enjoys this as much as feeling Timothée rut against his thigh. 

“Timothée, please answer me,” he says, voice low and soft. He squeezes his knee gently, ordering Timothée’s focus back on him.

“I…” Timmy doesn’t actually know what he wants. He’s still so focused on the bulge in his boss’ trousers, it’s difficult to think of anything other than wanting to drop to his knees and just fucking take it. Should he try that? He could try that. Just... slide down to the floor, rip Armand’s pants open and suck him down his throat. He’s good at it, too. The man wouldn’t be able to push him away, he’d make damn sure of it.

“Timothée,” Armand says, a little louder and a lot more stern this time. “I’m going to ask you one more time, and if you fail to answer, I will make the choice for you.”

The threat - though it’s not much of a threat, since it makes his stomach roll with arousal - seems to jolt Timmy from his daydreams and when he looks up at the man beside him, he bites his lip and nods submissively.

“Would you like to use the shower and change, or would you like to go home?” Armand asks again. 

“Maybe... Maybe both?” Timmy finally manages to suggest, his voice raspy. He suddenly realizes how uncomfortable he is, sitting on the couch with his own come drying in his pants and the unresolved tension between him and the man he wants more than anything right now. A change of clothes sounds wonderful, but he also really just wants to get away from Armand. He wants to go home and hide under his blankets until he’s forgotten all about this encounter. Maybe jerk himself silly in the meantime.

“Yes, definitely both,” he then says, straightening his back. “If you’re not gonna let me... I want to go home.”

Armie nods, watching the change in the kid. He seems more present already, and Armie is less afraid that he’s about to drop. 

“Please finish your glass of water and at least half of the chocolate bar.” He stands up just as Timothée takes another sip of water. 

The bag with Timothée’s suit from this morning is still sitting by Armie’s desk and Armie places a still packaged pair of underwear he keeps in his office for emergencies on top of it, before handing it over to Timothée. 

The kid has chewed a bit off the chocolate bar and then placed it back on the table and Armie tries to hide a smile, seeing some life back in Timothée’s face. 

“Put your dirty clothes in this bag and I’ll have them dry cleaned and delivered to you.” He places a key card into the kid’s hands. “This gives you access to the bathrooms up here. There’s fresh towels and everything you need in there. Dave will be waiting for you downstairs when you’re ready.”

Silence falls between them and Armie is suddenly aware of how close they are again. Timothée is still sitting on the sofa and Armie is standing in front of him, his crotch close enough to Timothée’s face that Armie’s fingers itch to just open the zipper, get out his cock and feed it into the kid’s mouth. 

Timothée’s gaze flickers down and Armie watches his lips part when his eyes fall on the outline of Armie’s cock, still hard, his pants still wet from Timothée’s release and his own arousal. 

It would be so easy. Just one word. One word and the kid would eagerly suck him off. 

_Fuck._ Armie feels his control slipping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay or nay? Are you all staying safe? Take care of yourselves, pretty please ♥
> 
> We are both on Tumblr, if you want to yell at us.  
> @getmehighonmagic  
> @germanjj


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy gets what he wants and has to deal with the turmoil of feelings that stirs up, which he only barely manages, before he has to be a star associate and reel in a new client.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are steadily writing on part two, we are continuously editing part one and we're really fucking grateful for all the love you guys shower us with. Seriously, you're a blessing, thank you so much! ♥ Enjoy!

Timmy swallows as he looks at the thick outline of the man’s cock in his pants. There’s a shift in his attitude and he can feel himself slipping into dangerous territory. He knows he’s either going to have his ass spanked or receive some other form of punishment, or be extremely disappointed, but he can’t control himself. He almost stomps his foot on the floor with his next words.

“I don’t understand why... Why you won’t let me, Sir. I’m really good at it, you know?” He sets his glass down on the table and scoots closer to the edge of the couch. Fuck the water and fuck the chocolate bar. And fuck this man for making him insane with want and then denying him what’s right in front of him and yet so out of reach. He’s going to get it, one way or another.

“That can’t be comfortable, Mr. Hammer,” he says seductively, gesturing to the man’s crotch. “I could make you come. I want to make you come. I could get it done in two minutes and be out of here - out of your sight - in three. I... Please, Sir. Goddamnit, please.”

And that’s when Timmy loses it completely. He sinks to the floor, grasps at Armand’s thighs and tries to fumble for the man’s zipper. He gets his hands on his belt buckle, attempts to open it and he thinks he’s succeeding too, but then the man’s hands are on his and his actions are stopped.

Their eyes lock and Armand’s nostrils are flaring. Is he... angry? Timmy thinks that would be ridiculous, considering he’s offering a service and being very generous with it, but then again, he’s being pretty demanding too, and his boss is the definition of dominance. He doesn’t want to overstep boundaries, but he’s already here and he fucking wants it. He wants that fat cock in his mouth and he wants it now. If it’s going to cost him his job, well... So be it.

Armie stares at those eyes looking up at him, wide and blown with arousal, and he makes a decision. He knows that it’s as much his body as it’s his mind deciding right now but he’s crossed the line of ‘going too far’ somewhere around the time he tied Timmy’s tie around his neck, back at Victor’s, and there’s no going back now. 

He had already decided to give Timothée what he wanted when they had been in the elevator, on their way to his office. He had convinced himself that it would be the best strategy to get it out of both their systems, so that they’d be able to work together without some ridiculous infatuation standing between them. 

Now that he knows that what Timothée needs isn’t his own orgasm but Armie’s, he has a much easier time believing that giving in is not for his own benefit. He itches with it; with the desire to let this kid have exactly what he needs. 

“What’s your safe word again?” Armie demands, voice rough. 

“R-Red,” Timothée gasps, as if he can’t quite believe he’s about to get what he wants. 

“Good boy.” The words roll so easily off his tongue and then Armie loosens his hold on Timothée’s hands. He caresses the boy’s face, traces the tips of his fingers along his cheekbones, his lips. He can’t wait to get into that mouth. 

He lifts his arm, fiddling with the timer of his apple watch. Then, he looks back at Timothée, meeting his gaze. He tries really hard not to get lost in those huge, green eyes. 

“You have two minutes,” Armie says, voice stern.

“Oh God, thank you,” Timmy breathes, before he unfastens Armand’s pants and pulls his cock from the slit of his boxers. He’s huge in his hands. Long and thick and deliciously veiny. The engorged head has almost turned purple and precome is bubbling up in the man’s slit. Timmy grins wickedly. He doesn’t fucking need two minutes.

He moans crudely when the tip of Armand’s cock touches his tongue, the taste registering as the most magical thing he’s tasted in a while. The steak they’ve had earlier doesn’t live up in the slightest. He laps greedily at the head, wraps his tongue around it and gives the base a few firm strokes with his tight fist. He looks up at Armand to make sure that the man is watching his every move, before he tightens his lips around his cock, sucks in his cheeks and sinks down on the hard rod. He relaxes his throat when he feels Armand’s cock hit the back of it and then swallows, pushes further, until his lips are touching his boss’ pubic area and he’s breathing into the coarse hair there. The man’s scent is slightly musky and it’s mouth-watering to Timmy.

He reaches up with his free hand to pull Armand’s balls free from his boxers as well and fondles them gently, rolling them between his fingers until the man finally groans above him and slips a hand into his hair. Timmy smiles around the thick cock in his mouth and begins to bob his head up and down, tightening his throat around Armand’s tip every time he takes him all the way in. 

Timmy counts in his head and it hasn’t even been a full minute when he feels the vein on the underside of his boss’ cock start to throb violently. He wants to cheer, to yell his euphoria and laugh in the man’s face, knowing he’s about to prove a point to him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he works his tongue and lips even harder, uses extra spit and even dares to slip a finger behind the man’s balls, pressing on his perineum.

“Jesus... fucking…” Armand groans and yanks on his hair, but Timmy doesn’t let up. He wants the man’s come in his mouth so badly that he forgets everything else around him. All of his senses are heightened and his stomach tingles with anticipation. His cock is once again hard in his trousers, still sticky with his earlier orgasm, and he feels like he could come again, just from sucking this glorious man to his peak. He knows he probably won’t get a chance, but he’s looking forward to masturbating with this image in mind.

Armie desperately clings to his last remnants of control, but it’s a fight he knows he’ll lose. 

Timothée hadn’t lied when he’d said he would be good at this. Armie never planned on giving him a hard time, but Timothée has him on edge in less than a minute. The wet, silky heat of his throat drives Armie insane and he can’t believe Timothée is taking all of him in, making it look easy. Making it look like he’s getting off on it, too. 

“Fuck, fuck, Timothée, Jesus Chri-” Armie shudders violently, the climax burning in his groin, ready to explode. He wants to warn Timothée, tries to pull him off, but the boy doesn’t budge and Armie can’t think anymore, not when his cock is down Timothée’s throat and the kid’s finger is circling his entrance. 

“Timmy, Timmy, fuck! You’re so good, so beautiful, fuck.” He thrusts into Timothée’s mouth, shallow and erratic, but he can’t help it. His orgasm is washing over him like a drawn out tsunami - slowly but powerful and never ending - and within seconds he’s groaning as he shoots his load. Timothée takes it greedily and makes sure his eyes lock with Armie’s. 

“Oh fuck, you’re amazing. Fuck, Timmy, so good... God, you’re so good.” He keeps talking, a litany of praise leaving his mouth without thinking, but he can’t help it, can’t tear his eyes away from Timothée and how he’s taking him like that, come spilling from the corners of his mouth, which he laps up immediately, before swallowing it all. 

Armie’s heavy breathing is filling the room as he tries to come down from his orgasm, his hand still buried in Timothée’s curls and his cock still in his mouth. 

The kid finally let’s go of him, let’s Armie’s cock slide out of his mouth and he groans, eyes falling closed. Then, he sits back, still on his knees, and looks up at Armie, eyes huge and lips bruised and wet; the picture of someone who had just been used thoroughly. The sight will forever be burned into his memory, Armie is sure of it. 

The low sound of his timer going off startles Armie, having completely forgotten what it meant. It breaks the spell between them, and Armie takes the opportunity to collect himself. He takes a few deep breaths and puts his spent cock back into his trousers. 

Timothée is still kneeling, still looking up in silence, as if he’s waiting for something. 

Armie leans down and cups Timothée’s cheek with his palm. “Get up now and shower. The car is waiting for you downstairs to bring you home.” He hesitates, sorting his thoughts before letting it all spill out. “You’ve been phenomenal,” he adds, softer. “And remember; I don’t do compliments.” He gives him a small smile and pats his cheek. 

The urge to kiss the kid is suddenly overwhelming. To scoop him up into his arms and let their mouths explore each other. To hold the kid in his arms and cherish the warm weight against him, the way he couldn’t before, when he’d been too busy watching him come. 

Armie steps back and puts some distance between them. Enough. This night is all the two of them will ever get. 

“Please, Timothée,” Armie says, his voice back to normal. “I’d like for Dave to have an early night.” He hands Timothée a business card with a handwritten number on the back. “Call me if you have any trouble tonight. If not, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. Remember to bring the proposition to our ten A.M. meeting.”

oOoOo

Timmy nibbles on the half eaten chocolate bar that Armand had handed him before he had left his office earlier. He’s currently on the couch in his small apartment. The TV is on, but he isn’t really watching. He’s staring at his phone, the screen showing his contact list. Or rather, his boss’ contact information.

When Armand had handed him the business card, Timmy had shoved it in his pocket as if it would burn his hand if he were to hold it for a second longer. On the drive home, it had felt like an annoying weight in his pocket and Timmy had been eager to throw it out at home. Because there is no way he is ever going to use it. Not after tonight. He is not going to contact the man privately. Definitely not.

So, naturally, he has now saved the info and is contemplating sending Armand a message. He knows that he shouldn’t. It isn’t going to do him any good and Armand had probably already forgotten all about their… moment. Was it even a moment for him, or just a convenience? Has Timmy just been used?

He hasn’t felt bad about what had occurred earlier until now, but he’s not offended or saddened by it. He’s actually pretty pissed off. All this time, he has been thinking that Armand appreciates how hard he works and how much he actually does for the firm. There’s no way the man can deny that, because Timmy does everything he’s asked and more. Has Armand just been waiting for a chance to get into his pants? Is he supposed to apply for other jobs now?

_No._

He isn’t going to leave the job of a lifetime over some guy. Even if ‘some guy’ happens to be his boss. He actually enjoys his job and he isn’t going to give the man the satisfaction, if that is what he’s after.

Something gnaws on the back of his mind, however. He had seen something in Armand’s eyes. They’d had a moment and the more Timmy replays the situation in his head, the more he’s convinced that there has to be more to it than just sexual attraction. They are _compatible._ He can give Armand what he seems to need, would willingly give him everything, and in return Armand can provide him with that firm hand Timmy can’t find with anyone else. But he isn’t sure how to approach the subject and Armand seems to be playing hard-to-get. 

_Two can play that game._ Timmy grins, selects Armand’s name and opens a new message.

> **Timothée** _9:48PM_  
>  Despite our unsuccessful dinner, I’ve had a splendid  
>  time tonight. Thank you… Sir.

  


Armie is in the car when Timmy’s text arrives, ready to be dropped off at his high rise apartment after he’d lost himself in work for way longer than he had intended.

“Thank you, Dave, have a good night,” he says to his driver and leaves the car, heading past the doorman to his elevator. 

He recognizes the tingle of excitement at Timothée’s word choice, but he suppresses it. He needs to extinguish this thing before it can grow out of hand. Armie knows himself, knows how dangerous Timothée is for him and how good the kid is at pushing exactly the right buttons to make him want to discipline him. To guide him. To punish him. To give him exactly what he needs. Timothée is like a ball of clay, ready to be formed and molded into something precious. 

Armie suppresses a shiver. He knows he can’t be that person for him. He’s Timothée’s boss, and just as much as he’s a diamond in the rough when it comes to submission, he’s a genius at his job. With a little bit of help he could have an incredible career, and that’s what Armie should be focusing on.

> **Armand** _10:32PM_  
>  Get some sleep. If I survive my meeting with Greta  
>  tomorrow morning, we both still might have a job. 
> 
> **Armand** _10:33PM_  
>  Come to think of it… If you’re on your A game  
>  tomorrow at the disposition and can charm Miss  
>  Vanderkamp into hiring us, we might get Greta  
>  another million dollar client and she might just  
>  forgive us for letting Carstairs go. 
> 
> **Armand** _10:36PM_  
>  Good night, Timothée.

oOoOo

On Friday, Timmy paces back and forth in front of the door to his boss’ office, his lip between his teeth and a hand in his hair, as the other one convulsively holds on to a thick stack of files. They’re the files for the disposition of Miss Vanderkamp. Armand had requested for him to drop them off at his office before the meeting and Timmy had been trying to find the courage to do so for the last half hour or so.

He feels completely out of character, being nervous over something this stupid, especially after having been so cocky last night. Timothée Chalamet doesn’t get nervous around men he’s slept with. But he hasn’t exactly slept with Armand, has he? They have shared a heated moment and what has happened is supposed to be a one time thing. However, as he watches the man’s silhouette move behind the blurred window next to the door, he knows he won’t be able to let this be. His stomach is in knots, his lip is bruised from biting it so hard - and maybe from the abuse it had gone through, wrapped around Armand’s cock - and his heart is telling him that there’s more. There’s something unresolved still sizzling between them, but there’s nothing he can do and that makes him nervous. 

Mixed in with the nerves, however, is also a part of Timmy that feels determined to hold his head up high and try even harder. Surely, he can’t be the only one who feels the tension between them. No, he is sure that Armand knows it too and that perhaps that’s why the man had been so distant in his text messages from the night before, to which - for the record - Timmy has not responded. That would give Armand the upper hand and Timmy has more respect for himself than that. Especially after his last failed relationships.

With a last deep breath, Timmy shuffles closer to the door and knocks on it, his toes curling in his dress shoes in anticipation. He looks down at himself while he waits for Armand to give him permission to enter and he knows he’s about to disappoint his boss. He’s wearing one of his own suits and since he had spent half of yesterday in such a well fitted outfit, he now knows that he looks ridiculous.

“Come in,” the low, gravely voice of his boss sounds through the door and Timmy shivers uncontrollably. Ridiculous.

“The files you asked for, Sir,” he announces as he steps over the threshold and into the man’s office. Armand turns to look at him and it knocks the wind out of Timmy, as if he is hit in the chest. His hair looks a little less carefully styled and Timmy is sure that he’s done it on purpose, because it looks, well… God, he looks good. He’s not wearing a suit jacket and his button up shirt looks extra snug around his shoulders and chest. 

The memory of the night before flashes before Timmy’s eyes and he can feel his knees shake.

His arms around the man’s neck, his thick thigh between his legs, the way Armand’s breath had been heavy in his ear, as he encouraged Timmy to come.

It is so much.

Armie stops in his tracks when his eyes land on Timothée. Silence creeps between them as Armie studies the kid; the hunched shoulders, the bowed head, the nervous fingers and bitten lips. 

_Fuck._

“Come in and close the door.” 

He waits until Timothée does as he’s told and takes the files from him once he’s done so. He’s standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, almost bouncing from one foot to the other. Gone is the confident and cocky kid from before, the one that knows he’s the smartest person in the room. And Armie has done that. 

“Square your shoulders,” Armie says and watches as Timothée adjusts his posture almost immediately. “Interlace your fingers behind your back.”

Once again, Timothée does as he’s told without a word and Armie fights the rush it causes inside him. Timothée is naturally following his orders and it’s beautiful. 

Armie leans back in his desk chair and reads through the files Timothée has handed him. He takes his time and doesn’t look up at the boy once, even though he’s aware of him on a deeper level than just knowing that he’s standing there. He only looks up once he’s finished reading through all of it and then meets Timothée’s gaze. He’s sure the kid has not once looked away from him. 

“Excellent work,” Armie says and it’s the truth. “Summarize her situation for me?”

Timothée stutters at first, but then follows the order and gives a clear and succinct summary of Miss Vanderkamp’s case. 

“Well done.” Armie stands up and rounds his desk, before leaning back against it. Timothée is still standing there with his shoulders squared like he was asked to, but keeps on following Armie’s every move with his eyes. 

“List all the possible outcomes we could face if we’d bring her case in front of a jury.”

Timothée reacts immediately this time, his voice already stronger and more settled, his speech slower. 

_Almost there._

Armie gives him a small smile. “Very good. You’re prepared and ready. I must ask you to please call me Armie. We’re going in as a team and Miss Vanderkamp doesn’t like the display of power imbalance.” He shoots a glance at the clock that’s hanging behind Timothée on the wall, a monstrosity that is supposed to be art and that Armie has had a love-hate relationship with ever since his friend had given it to him. He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. 

“We have about ten minutes for you to tell me what else I can do for you to make sure you’re bringing your A game in there. I know you can do it. Question is; do you?”

Armie is not pretending not to know that Timothée’s unsettledness has less to do with the case and more to do with the night before, but he hopes that by focusing on the case he can fix both of it. That giving Timothée clear instructions and praise will make sure he finds his footing around Armie again. And he hopes that by focusing on Timothée’s needs, he can keep his own hidden from view.

Timmy’s heart is beating a mile a minute as he stands before Armie - _Armie_ \- and follows his orders. With Armie’s help and praise repeating itself in his mind, he now feels much more prepared for the meeting, and with that more confident too. However, he still is emotionally winded and he just needs a little reassurance. He needs to know that what he feels isn’t an illusion.

“I… I don’t know, Sir,” he says. Because he does know, he just doesn’t know how to express what he needs. His fingers start fiddling again, behind his back where Armie had asked for him to clasp them.

“Try a little harder for me, please,” Armie says, and his tone is so stern and yet so calm, that Timmy can’t think straight and just… acts. No matter the consequences.

“I just… Sir, I…” He stumbles over his words and takes a step closer to Armie. He searches the man’s gaze for any signs of aversion, but he finds none. Instead, he finds a clear blue sea of curiosity, acceptance and genuinity.

Timmy sinks to his knees and averts his eyes, lets his chin drop to his chest. He takes a deep breath. His hands start to shake and his stomach turns, but he isn’t afraid. Armie has asked what he needs and this is what he needs. He needs to be on his knees, he needs to feel the floor beneath him and he needs to know that someone is taking over from him. After what happened last night, he needs to know that Armie will catch him, whether their connection runs deeper than a one time thing or not. 

“I feel lost… after last night, Sir. I need to… I need to be here. On my knees. I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He knows that if he speaks up now, his voice is going to be shaky and he doesn’t want to sound unstable. He isn’t unstable, just ungrounded. 

For a long, devastating moment, Armie is completely mesmerized by the sight in front of him and something washes over him. Something strong and powerful and threatening. _Hunger._

He breathes through it, his eyes locked on Timothée as he kneels before him; his head bowed, his whole body trembling and yet so pliant, so submissive. He’s perfect. Just like he was yesterday. So willing, so trusting and so eager to offer himself up, to ask for what he needs. 

“Keep your eyes down,” Armie starts, his voice kind and soft but unyielding. “Stay on your knees and get over to the left side of the sofa. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

With that, Armie walks over to his desk and calls his secretary. “Flo? Stall the meeting. Give Miss Vanderkamp a tour of the office, or whatever you must do. Timothée and I need to go over the case once more and we’re going to be fifteen minutes late. And please have water and Coke ready in the meeting room. Not the diet kind, I want the sugar.”

“You got it,” Flo chirps easily. It’s not the first time she’s stalled anything for Armie for personal purposes. 

“You’re the best.”

“Oh, I know.”

Armie hangs up the phone and turns to find Timothée by the sofa, settled in the exact position Armie has asked for, but his posture is unsure and weak. 

“Tell me your safe word again, Timothée.”

“Red,” comes the prompt reply. 

“Very good.” Armie walks over and takes a seat at the end of the sofa where Timothée is kneeling, close enough that he can hear him breathe shakily. 

“I will touch you now. Your head and your neck. Use your safe word if it gets to be too much or if you’re uncomfortable. Understood?”

Timothée breathes in. “Y-yes.”

So, Armie reaches out, lets his hand gently glide over Timothée’s hair and runs his fingers through the soft locks. Something instantly changes in Timothée’s posture. His head tilts back a little, like a cat pushing into the hand caressing it. 

Armie’s hand travels lower, his fingertips reaching the nape of the kid’s neck. Timothée whimpers, but Armie let’s it slide, trying not to commit that sound to memory. He keeps his hand there, increasing the pressure until he’s gently massaging the back of Timothée’s neck. Slowly but steadily, Timothée straightens his back and starts breathing less irregular and deeper than he usually does. 

He keeps an eye on the clock, planning enough time for Timothée to get out of his hazy state and ready to get back to work. The Coke will help wake up his system, but Armie needs him to be alert enough to not walk into that room in a total trance. 

A thought is festering in his head. It’s small, a little insignificant even, but it’s something he could selfishly take from Timothée, and the hunger he’s trapped inside him rages against its restraints. 

Armie rubs against Timothée’s neck and then he uses the nail of his middle finger to slowly scratch against the skin. Timothée moans immediately, the sweet, rich sound traveling through Armie’s body and causing him to shudder. He stores the sound into a secret cabinet in his memory, together with the reaction Timothée has just given him to such a simple touch. It’s his now, and he’s not sure if he’s going to bring it back up later, when he’s alone, but it’s there just in case and that feels _good._

“Are you ready to get to work?” he asks the kid, almost sad that their stolen moment is over.

Timmy turns sideways and rubs his nose against Armie’s knee, almost like a cat. He suddenly feels affectionate and he knows it’s weird, but he just needs to show the man his appreciation. He nods and stretches his back, before he attempts to stand up. His legs are still a bit shaky and he stumbles, but Armie’s hand is right there, grabbing onto his bicep to steady him, and Timmy smiles gratefully.

“You’re having a glass of Coke in there. Am I clear?” Armie is watching him with concern in his eyes and it makes Timmy’s insides feel all warm and fuzzy.

“Yes, Sir,” he says, biting his lip to hold back a cheeky grin. He suddenly feels so much better. It sucks that his boss has to be the man he’s been looking for for a while now, but there has to be a way to win Armie over. He might have to be patient and think things over, but Timmy is not going to give up on this. Being with Armie feels too right to just… sweep the idea under the rug.

They slip into the conference room, looking like professionals for the eyes of outsiders, and Timmy notices that Miss Vanderkamp is already waiting for them. Florence is tapping her foot on the floor, her arms crossed in front of her chest and a grin on her face. Timmy sees that Armie gives her a look and she stifles a laugh, before she leaves the room. 

Armie greets their potential client, a big, fake smile on his face, and then introduces her to Timmy. He gestures for Timmy to sit down and pours them both a glass of Coke from the bottle Florence has left for them on the table. Timmy sips it gratefully while Armie announces the beginning of their meeting, quickly going over their agenda before starting with the first topic. Timmy listens carefully, knowing he’s going to have to speak up at some point and steal the show. They desperately need this client, even more so after what happened last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there, stay safe, take care of yourself and have an awesome weekend! ♥
> 
> We're on tumblr! DMs are always open for you.  
> @getmehighonmagic  
> @germanjj


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie is forced to take Timmy on a trip, during which he discovers something new about the kid. When they arrive at their destination, Timmy is quite overwhelmed. Especially by the gorgeous man who greets them at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are absolutely baffled by the amount of comments, but we're so so so grateful, people! ♥ Thank you so much for your love and support, and we hope you'll enjoy the next chapter. Say hello to Harry and Louis :')

Three hours later, Greta is standing in Armie’s office with a smile on her face. 

“Your new protégée is quite something,” she says. “Apparently he’s made a good impression with our new client?”

Armie doesn’t even try to hide his proud grin. “I‘ve always chosen the best associates. Why do you seem surprised?”

“Don’t get cocky with me, Armie. Not after Carstairs.”

He gets up, waving away his boss’ last comment like it’s nothing. “Vanderkamp is not only the wealthier client; she also happens to be a nice, old lady with manners. I much prefer working with her, than wasting my time on a sleazebag like Carstairs.”

“Be that as it may,” Greta starts, not amused, “if we’re separating from clients, I am the one you talk to first. You’re not going to make this decision on your own ever again. Are we clear, Armie?”

Flo appears behind Greta in the open office door, saving Armie from having to respond. “Mr. Styles is on the line for you, Armie?”

“I will call him back. Thank you, Florence.”

“One last thing,” Greta says once Flo has left them alone, and her voice is even more serious now. “Why am I hearing rumors about you, supposedly sleeping with the new kid?”

A chill travels down Armie’s spine. “Excuse me?” His mind races, trying to recall every event from the last two days. He tries to think of anyone who could have possibly seen them, but he comes up empty. Then it clicks. 

“Carstairs.” He sees in Greta’s face that he’s hit the nail on the head. Armie relaxes instantly. 

“That’s because the old man couldn’t stomach that his advances were being shut down by a pretty twenty-five year old. It’s ridiculous, Greta, and you know it.” 

She studies him for a moment, and then nods. “Make sure to keep it that way. I will not tolerate fraternization at my firm.”

With those last words, she turns. 

And almost runs into Timothée. 

She stops, regarding him for a moment, and then gives him one of her rare smiles. She nods appreciatively, before she leaves Armie’s office.

“I, um... I have the files you asked for?” It comes out as a question, more than an announcement and Timmy frowns. As soon as the door clicks shut behind Greta, he places the files on Armie’s desk and scratches at the nape of his neck, a nervous tic he’s inherited from his mother. “Was she... Um, are you... Is everything okay?”

Armie shrugs and picks up the files, flips through them. “Everything is fine, Timothée,” he says, almost too carelessly.

Timmy scoffs and gently kicks the floor with the tip of his dress shoe. “Stop calling me that,” he says.

Armie finally looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. “It is your name.”

“Most people call me Timmy,” Timmy says. He bites his lip and considers for a moment if he’s being inappropriate, but he doesn’t think so. He wants Armie to call him Timmy. He wants his name to sound familiar from the man’s mouth.

“I’m not most people,” Armie shoots back, amusement evident in his voice. Timmy breathes a quiet chuckle and averts his eyes.

“You can say that again,” he mumbles and then clears his throat. “Please, just call me Timmy, Sir.”

Armie nods and throws the files down on his desk. He looks at everything but Timmy for a few long seconds, and Timmy thinks he might be feeling uncomfortable, but then he finally locks their gazes and smiles warmly.

“Are you feeling better, Timmy?”

Butterflies start a riot in Timmy’s stomach and he has to suppress the goofy giggle that he can feel bubbling up in his chest. Armie cares. This man, this God of a man... He _cares._

“I am,” Timmy says and he looks down at his feet for a few seconds, before he adds “Thank you, Armie.”

Calling his boss by his name, instead of ‘Mr. Hammer’ or ‘Sir’ is a whole new experience and he embraces it with open arms. He feels powerful and submissive all at once and he loves it.

“Very good,” Armie says, before he shifts in his chair and picks up his office phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me? I have a phone call scheduled with Mr. Harry Styles.”

“Of course, yeah, yes,” Timmy stutters. He nods awkwardly, but Armie is already dialling a number and Timmy knows he’s been dismissed. He shuffles to the door, tries to drag out his departure, just to be in the vicinity of the man he is falling hard for for a few seconds longer.

“Hey, Haz,” he hears Armie say, just before he slips out of the office and shuts the door behind himself. _Haz?_ Timmy frowns. It sounds like a nickname and it immediately makes him wonder why Armie would call a client by anything other than their last name. That isn’t very formal, is it?

oOoOo

Armie manages two days and a full weekend without seeing Timothée. _Timmy._

They’ve kept their interactions through emails and texts and one business related phone call, but other than that, he’d kept his distance and kept himself and Timmy busy with work. 

But then Greta had basically demanded that Armie take the new guy to an in person meeting with Mr. Styles, which Armie had fought against to no avail. He can’t exactly tell her the reason why he doesn’t want the kid to join him at one of Harry’s meetings, now can he?

Greta insisted, however. She wants to reward Timmy for his great work, and so Armie finds himself once again taking the elevator to the floor where the associates have their cubicles. He’s been down here a full three times since he’s been working at the firm, which comes up to six years this October. Two of the three times have been in the last two weeks. 

He’s greeted with loud chatter and laughter. There’s a group of almost identical looking men and women - immaculate suits and costumes, short styled hair - huddled in the middle of the room, laughing like schoolboys on the playground. 

The noise instantly dies as Armie enters the large room. He pauses for a moment, letting his presence speak for itself without even opening his mouth. The group disperses and everyone runs back to their desks, cheeks flaming and eyes downcast. Armie feels like a teacher entering an unruly classroom. He remembers why he hates to come down here. 

“Mr. Hammer,” a guy greets him, and Armie can’t for the life of him remember his name, so he walks past him and makes his way straight to Timmy’s desk. The boy in question is, once again, completely lost in his work, headphones and curly hair dominating his appearance. 

Timmy looks up as he approaches, and his whole face lights up with a smile. “Armie, hey,” the kid says and takes off the headphones. 

Armie ignores the way his stomach flip flops at the sight of him. He’s been trying to forget the feel of Timmy on top of him, riding his thigh. Just like he’s been trying to forget the sounds the kid makes when he comes. Or the way his own cock had felt in Timmy’s mouth. 

“What is that?” Timmy asks, pointing at the large shopping bag Armie is carrying. A sleek black bag, with a tiny logo in the middle. 

“Your new suits. And some additional clothing items,” Armie tells him when he’s close enough, trying not to announce to the room that he’s bought the new guy clothes. “Victor finished my order just in time.”

Timmy’s already reached for the bag and is about to peek inside, when he looks up again. 

“In time for what?”

“Clear your schedule from Tuesday to Thursday. You’ll be coming with me to Boston for a client meeting. And bring these clothes. You’ll need them. Mr. Styles loves to entertain guests, business or pleasure, and he has... extravagant taste.”

oOoOo

It’s way too early when Timmy stuffs the last few pieces of clothing in his suitcase on Tuesday morning. He can’t believe the suits Armie has picked out for him. And the ‘additional clothing items’ turned out to be a sparkly, sequence black blouse with burgundy red stripes, and a pair of high waist, flare leg trousers, just as black and silky between his fingers when he had lifted it from the bag. Timmy has fallen in love with the outfit, but he can’t even imagine to what kind of an event he would wear it. It’s quite over the top.

At 8AM sharp, he receives a text from Armie that he is waiting in front of his building. His heart is beating in his chest as he rides the elevator down to the lobby and makes his way to the large automatic doors, his backpack slung over one shoulder and pulling his suitcase behind him. When he makes it to the sidewalk, the first thing he sees is not the familiar black limousine, but a navy blue BMW, and Armie leaning against it. Timmy’s suddenly nervous, remembering how close they had been to each other the last time they had shared a car. But then Dave had been in there with them. Now, with Armie driving, they’ll be alone. 

“Will you hurry up?” Armie says, as he steps away from the car and takes Timmy’s suitcase from him, but his facial expression doesn’t match the impatient tone in his voice. If anything, Armie looks tense and nervous and Timmy can’t think of why that could be. Weren’t they just meeting with a client?

“Are we... Are we late?” Timmy asks, climbing into the car while Armie loads his suitcase into the trunk.

“No,” Armie says curtly, as he slips behind the wheel and buckles his seatbelt. “We should be there by noon.”

Timmy frowns, but doesn’t say anything.

They’re not even an hour into their four hour trip, when Armie notices that Timmy is starting to squirm in his seat. It’s subtle, but he sees that Timmy’s growing restless, moving his hips and squeezing his legs. 

“Is something the matter?” Armie finally asks, even though he has a hunch, and he wonders why Timmy doesn’t speak up. 

“I gotta... I gotta pee,” he admits, somewhat shyly. “I’m sorry.”

Armie scoffs. “Timothée, you could have just said so. There’s a rest stop in about three miles, you have to hold it for me a little while longer.”

Timmy whimpers a little, probably because he’s waited too long to say something, but Armie also wonders if he may have hit a sensitive subject by asking such a specific thing from Timmy.

The air is tense between them for a while, until Armie stops the car next to a half-decent looking rest stop that has both a little shop for snacks and a gas station.

Timmy bolts out of the car the minute it comes to a stop, and Armie chuckles as he watches him run into the shop, his hair flopping in the wind. 

He waits, spending his time checking his emails, but somehow twenty minutes pass and Timmy doesn’t re-emerge. With a groan, Armie unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car, following Timmy into the shop. 

At first, he doesn’t see him anywhere and he’s afraid that he has to follow him into the bathroom to check up on him, but then he finds him in one of the isles. He’s at the very end of it, which is why Armie hadn’t been able to see him from the entrance of the shop or the cash register, and he’s carrying a bag of chips and several chocolate bars. 

“Seriously?” Armie stops in front of him, raising an eyebrow. 

“What? I gotta eat,” Timmy defends himself, but there’s something off about him. His words lack the usual heat and his face is... flushed. 

“Excuse me,” an employee says, who is stepping through the door behind Timmy, squeezing past them and pushing Timmy against Armie. 

Armie freezes. He can smell the kid. The faint scent of clean sweat and come he knows all too well, and he’s attacked by sudden images of Timmy in one of the bathroom stalls - his cock in his hand, jerking off quickly and quietly. And then Armie thinks of Timmy’s face when he comes; the scrunch of his nose and the furrow between his brows. 

Timmy doesn’t move either, as if he knows that he’s been caught. Instead, he looks up at Armie through hooded eyes, his mouth slightly parted as he breathes heavily.

“Did you get off while I waited for you in the car?” Armie asks, his voice threateningly low. He doesn’t know if he’s angry, turned on or both, but then Timmy’s eyes flicker to Armie‘s mouth and the kid licks his lips. It infuriates him. 

“What if I did?” Timmy whispers. “What if I tell you that I wanted it to be your hand on my cock?”

“Jesus Christ.” Armie suppresses the urge to grab the kid by the throat and push him into the next wall, but only barely.

“I want to kiss you, Sir,” the kid pleads, eyes shifting back and forth between Armie’s eyes and his lips. He’s already leaning in a little closer. 

Armie stops him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“This is a really fucking bad idea,” he hisses, looking around to check if someone’s watching them. 

The kid has stopped in his tracks, staring at Armie. 

“You have to get yourself together, Timmy. Okay?” Armie’s voice is stern and leaves no room for argument. “What we did was a one time thing. That’s it. Understood?”

Timmy presses his lips together, and his nostrils are flaring as if he’s preparing to argue, but then he nods, pursing his lips.

“Good.” Armie steps away from him, putting some much needed distance between them, and then watches him go up to the register to pay for his snacks. Only then, when he’s out of earshot, does Armie allow himself to exhale. His heart is pounding in his chest and he’s painfully hard in his pants.

They only share a few short words with each other during the rest of the drive, but mostly just relax back in their seats and watch the scenery.

When the car finally comes to a halt, they step out onto the driveway of one of the biggest mansions Timmy has ever seen. It’s sleek and very modern, with its stark white walls and dark chrome window frames. There’s a high, light grey staircase leading up to the front door. 

And that’s when Timmy’s heart plummets into his stomach.

The man waiting for them is absolutely gorgeous, with his perfectly styled, dark, curly hair that falls down over his collar bones, and his impressive jawline. He’s wearing a three piece suit, bright blue with a black ruffled shirt underneath.

Armie hands Timmy his suitcase, but he barely notices. He’s in a bit of a haze, with everything and everyone being so... much. His boss guides him up the stairs with a hand on his lower back and that makes Timmy feel slightly better, but then he’s suddenly standing in front of - who he thinks is - Mr. Styles and his mouth goes dry. 

No wonder Armie has been so nervous. This man is art.

“Armie, I’m so happy to see you,” he says, and his British accent sends a thrill down Timmy’s spine. He instantly resents the man. 

He feels like a fucking fraud, standing between these two gorgeous men, in his plain black suit.

“Hey, Haz,” Armie says in the same tone he’d used on the phone. They embrace each other warmly and Timmy shifts uncomfortably. The embrace seems so familiar between them, and it makes him wonder if there’s more history between them, a deeper connection perhaps, than he’s aware of. “This is Timothée, my associate,” Armie then says, stepping back to give Timmy the opportunity to introduce himself.

“Just Timmy, really,” Timmy says awkwardly, offering his hand, but Mr. Styles swats it away and pulls him in for a hug.

“And I’m just Harry,” he says, before he lets go and steps into the house. “Come on in, put your luggage down. Louis ordered us Italian for lunch. You like that, right?”

Timmy follows Harry and Armie into the house, still wondering what ties them together. They are led into a beautiful dining area, where a buffet is stalled out on the large, white marble table and another man is fiddling with silverware. He’s short, dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt and both of his arms are covered in tattoos. He looks very ‘normal’ and completely out of place, and yet he smiles the brightest smile when his eyes fall on Harry. They kiss each other soundly, before Harry turns to Timmy with his arm around the man’s shoulders.

“Timmy, this is my husband, Louis.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Timmy says and hurries to shake the man’s hand. Louis smiles warmly and grips his hand tightly for a few seconds. Then, he turns to Armie and nods, his smile fading from his face. Harry ruffles his hair and gestures towards the table.

“Dig in, don’t be modest.” He hands both Timmy and Armie a plate and then grabs one for himself.

Armie lets Timmy go first and follows him around the table, loading his plate with food. It all feels very unreal to Timmy and he still has no idea why they’re there and why Armie has asked him to come.

“You want to sell your company?” Armie isn’t sure he heard that right. Harry beams at him from across the table, Louis looks thoughtful, and Timmy seems just completely confused. 

“I knew you’d react like that!” Harry playfully points at Armie, and he seems to have fun breaking the news. 

“It’s a multimillion dollar company,” Armie starts. “That you built from the ground up.”

Harry shrugs. “I know. But I’m bored. And I’m too young to be hating what I’m doing. I want to pursue music. And art. Fashion, maybe.” He looks over at his husband, tightening his grip on the man’s hand as a quick, but loving gesture. 

In the back of his mind, Armie registers that the portrayal of love and intimacy between them doesn’t hurt him. Doesn’t even irritate him. He finds that he’s genuinely happy for Harry and that realization makes him breathe a little easier. 

“And you wanted us to come here to… talk you out of it?”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. He reaches for his wine glass and takes a sip, then gathers the rest of his pasta with his fork. 

“No. I wanted you here to tell you the news. And to see you, because it’s been way too long since the wedding.”

Armie notices Timmy squirm next him, shuffling in his chair, which in turn makes Armie nervous, as if the kid’s every mood seeps right under Armie’s skin. When he glances at him, Timmy’s fingers are dancing on the table, a nervous tic that they needed to work on. 

That _Timmy_ needed to work on, Armie corrects himself. There is no ‘they’.

Under the table, he presses his knee against Timmy’s without sparing him a single look, the subtle touch meant to calm Timmy’s nerves, but as he feels the effect of it, the slow release of tension in the kid’s body, he notices that it has the exact same effect on him, as well.

Armie suspects that Timmy feels somewhat out of place in this crazy expensive mansion and under the scrutiny of these two men in front of him, who couldn’t be more different from each other. Especially if Timmy thinks he’s the third wheel in a reunion between, well, friends. 

“You don’t spend my hourly rate as an attorney just to see me, Haz,” Armie calls him out, his tone light. 

Harry’s eyes sparkle. “Okay, true. I wanted your expertise and-” he gestures towards Timmy with a big smile, “your associate’s, to reinvest my money. I want to create a good portfolio. You know? Find some good charities, some interesting projects, that sort of thing.”

Timmy visibly relaxes even more, probably because this is familiar territory. This he is confident about. 

“Okay,” Armie nods. “Let’s go over your ideas later and-”

Harry interrupts him. “No, not today. Today is for fun. The party begins at six. I promise I only invited a few friends. I hope you packed some nice outfits?” He winks at them both. “Did you let Victor pick for you? Please say yes.”

Armie laughs, a full body laugh, remembering how Victor and Harry used to gang up on him, making him wear the most exquisite suits.

Timmy watches the two men banter like they’ve known each other for years and even though he now knows the purpose of their visit, he still feels very… useless. Like his presence isn’t necessary at all. Armie’s knee pressing up against his is a relief, almost. It grounds him, makes him feel less alone and more taken care of. It’s pathetic, because he should be able to take care of himself, but he just… wants Armie to do it. 

“Excuse me for a second,” Armie says after lunch. “I’m going to see if we’re able to check into our hotel.” He squeezes Timmy’s shoulder - a friendly gesture to outsiders, but so much more to Timmy - and stands up, but before he has a chance to leave the room, Harry scoffs and gestures for him to sit back down.

“Since when do you call the shots?” Armie asks playfully and Timmy feels hot all over, because he knows that tone. He looks over at Louis, but the man is just wiping his plate clean with a piece of garlic bread, not a care in the world. Timmy thinks that he must really trust Harry. They look like they belong with no one else, but each other. 

“You’re staying here,” Harry tells them, when Armie sits back down. “Two out of three of our guestrooms are under construction. We’re turning them into a home studio and an art room,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “But the biggest one is already set up for you.”

Sweat breaks out across Timmy’s back at the idea of sharing a room with Armie and he doesn’t know if he feels excited or just plain frightened. He wants this man desperately, but he doesn’t think this is the right setting, nor the right moment to try and pursue that. Fortunately, Armie seems to agree.

“That’s very kind of both of you, but I can assure you that it’s not necessary,” he says, getting up again.

“Sit down, lad,” Louis suddenly says and Timmy realizes that this is the first time he’s heard the man say anything since they had sat down at the table. “You think you’re gonna win this argument?” he scoffs, but he lovingly cups one of Harry’s cheeks and shakes his head at Armie. “Not a chance.”

“Armie,” Timmy says, placing a hand on Armie’s lower arm. It suddenly feels so wrong to turn their offer down. Here he is, having lunch in a mansion he has only dreamt of ever seeing the inside of up until an hour ago, invited by these two men who seem - for the record - lovely. He can almost hear his mother scolding him for being rude. He smiles at Armie and shrugs. “It’s okay, we can stay here.”

Armie rolls his eyes and grumbles, but eventually agrees. Timmy doesn’t know what the big deal is, but he decides to just let this happen. Who knows? He might learn more from this trip than he would have at the office.

It isn’t until they enter the guestroom, that he discovers why Armie might have been so reluctant: there’s only one bed. It’s huge, luxurious and invitingly soft, but it’s still one bed and he’s suddenly more nervous than he had been on his first day at Gerwig & Partners.

“The bathroom is fully stocked with everything you might-”

“Harry!” Armie interrupts, but the colorful man laughs and waves him off.

“I meant towels and soap, of course. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Timmy shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He has a feeling that Harry might know exactly what is happening between them and why they’re so tense, but he doesn’t dare ask. He already feels like the third wheel and he doesn’t want to make himself seem awkward. Because he is. Armie is such a confident, _big_ man; wealthy and impressive. Harry isn’t any less impressive, with his gracious appearance and his beautiful home. Timmy is just… Timmy. In a suit Armie’s tailor picked out for him.

“So, you have a few hours to get ready for the party,” Harry says, patting Armie on the back. “We’ll be in the sitting room if you need anything. If you decide to stay up here until the party starts, you can find us in the back room. The doors to the yard are open, heating lamps and all that.”

“Thanks, Haz,” Armie says and then the man is gone. Timmy bites his lip and stares at the bed for a few seconds, before he turns to his boss.

“What are we… I mean, how are we gonna…”

“You’ll take the bed, I can sleep on the sofa.” Armie looks at the small two seater in the corner and can already feel his back ache. 

“No, that’s ridiculous, I should-”

“End of discussion, Timothée.”

“Timmy,” Timmy reminds him weakly, his whole posture stiff with confusion, uneasiness and defeat.

Armie’s instinct is to fix this. To help him. To make him do exactly what Armie knows Timmy needs right now. Because he does know. Can read the kid like an open book. He can basically hear him beg for discipline, a firm hand and an even firmer voice. There’s something about Timmy that’s pulling Armie in, like a magnet he can’t escape from. Like they are made for each other. 

He takes a deep breath and steps away from the kid, bringing his bag over to the sofa. Without another glance at Timmy, he unpacks his laptop and settles in for a few hours of work before they need to get ready. 

He hears the click of the door when Timmy finally slips out of the room and doesn’t manage to concentrate much on his work the whole time he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember: safe, sane and consensual!  
> We hope you have a great weekend! Stay safe ♥
> 
> You'll find us both on tumblr as:  
> getmehighonmagic  
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> 
> Laters, babes!

**Author's Note:**

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